


The reluctant riser

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cold, Confused John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's not good with mornings and Sherlock wants tea. In fact, Sherlock wants a lot of things that John wasn't aware of.</p><p>I don't own BBC Sherlock but remain grateful they allow us to borrow them to play with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The reluctant riser

People would think, if people were inclined to do so, that it would be Sherlock who was a reluctant riser in the mornings……People would be wrong.

After years of enforced morning activity under a regimented timetable in the military and the aches and pains his service had left him with, John Hamish Watson was not a willing participant in the morning ritual of ‘greeting the day’.

Not for him the enthusiastic throwing back of the bed-sheets, leaping up with a cheery smile and jaunty skip down the stairs to prepare breakfast (perhaps while whistling an uplifting tune). 

No, John’s morning routine consisted of a disgruntled groan, a dissatisfied huff and a determined roll over to snuggle further down into warm blankets.

John felt he’d earned his morning routine. He’d served his country and gotten shot for his troubles. He deserved a little slack, and if that included a bit of hedonistic luxuriating in the privacy of his bed on cold mornings, it was a small price that England could well afford to pay.

His flatmate however, had other ideas. Sherlock was a habitual early riser (if he ever went to bed at all), and since Sherlock’s tea obviously wouldn’t make itself, part of Sherlock’s morning routine was to get John moving as soon as he was physically able to do so, regardless of the means needed to be employed.

“John!” The call came from down the stairs, “Get up.”

“No.” John murmured, wrapped in soft sheets and blissful warmth, well aware that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to hear his muffled response.

“Get up or I’ll come up and pull you from the bed.” The voice came from closer to the foot of the stairs this time.

“Fuck off Sherlock.” John shot back, still well out of earshot.

Footsteps echoed off the stairs two at a time and John’s door, always left ajar to improve the ventilation was thrown wide.

“Damn it John, get up.” Sherlock’s voice penetrated John’s cocoon of wool and cotton, a familiar frustration in the tone but without any sting of real anger.

“No……warm” John turned slightly, poking his nose from the covers enough to look at the tall lean man in pyjama bottoms and ruffled bed-hair in the doorway. Sherlock was shifting restlessly from one bare foot to the other on the cold timber floorboards.

“It’s OK for some…You might be warm… it’s bloody freezing out here.” As if struck by a brilliant thought, Sherlock’s eyes widened and he strode toward the bed, “Budge over. If you’re not coming out, I’m coming in.”

“What? No! Piss off Sherlock, you’re not getting in here with me.” John wrapped the sheets more tightly around his body, and shifted away from the approaching detective.

“I damn well am. Bad enough I need to come up here to get you without having to stand here in the cold…now…budge.” 

Sherlock wrenched the edge of the sheets and blankets from under John and dove in under the covers with little regard for personal space or propriety.

“Christ Sherlock, you really have no idea of acceptable social behaviour do you?” John muttered, trying to shift further away and achieving little more than pulling the taller man closer toward him within the muddle of sheets.

“Says the grown man who won’t get out of bed.” Sherlock murmured rolling toward the centre and luxuriating in the warmth John had left behind in his attempted escape. “Although I do concede that at this moment, I see the attraction of your bed.” Sherlock stretched along the centre of the bed, his hip brushing up against John’s in the snug confines.

John let out a surprised yelp, “Sherlock, you’re freezing. Get off, and can you please at least respect some personal space.”

“Should have thought of that before…..” Sherlock planted his enormous bare feet on John’s calves, “….forcing me to take drastic actions.”

“Christ! Are you dead or something? How can your feet be that cold?” John tried unsuccessfully to shift away.

“Poor blood supply. You on the other hand……” Cold hands inched closer to John’s body heat, “….appear to have unexpected talents I was not aware of Doctor Watson.”

“Don’t even think…..” John sighed resignedly. His history as personal bed-warmer was a long one. Virtually every partner, male and female alike had remarked on his warm, steady body heat and had taken great delight in the free supply. It didn’t take any great leap to realise that Sherlock, now aware of this undisclosed commodity, would assume he had a proprietorial right to avail himself of John’s heat. ”Alright…come here. But can we agree never to mention this to another living human?” John turned over and opened his arms toward the detective.

“Excellent.” Without further preamble, Sherlock rolled his lean body toward John and nestled tightly against his warm chest, snaking long arms to curl against John’s back. John distantly considered that he would likely have objected more strongly to the body now pressed against shoulder, chest and thigh if not for the fact that he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the odd morning cuddle. A disadvantage of being a permanent furnace was the tendency to overheat in bed and it was refreshing, once over the initially chilly shock, to be gathered against cool skin that leached some of his excess heat away. 

Twin sighs, bordering on gruff moans sounded slightly obscene in the stillness of the bedroom. John shivered a little as Sherlock’s breath puffed gently in the curve of his neck. Sherlock's lean frame curled to fit, implausibly naturally, in the curve of John’s torso and legs entwined shamelessly together.

“Mmmmm…” Sherlock’s deep rumble of contentment drew John’s drifting thoughts back to reality and he considered for a moment the insanity of the situation. Here they lay, both half naked having a quiet early morning cuddle in John’s bed. _People would talk_ John thought with a smile, _People would certainly talk now._

“Ummm…Sherlock?” John was quickly becoming aware that the combination of bed, too much exposed skin and a rather great fondness of morning sex were resulting in a not completely unexpected, but quite surprisingly insistent morning erection. He was managing to angle his hips away from Sherlock at the moment but he suspected that would change rather soon if Sherlock continued to squirm and fidget as he sought out patches of warm skin.

With an imperious tone, Sherlock mumbled, “Shhh John…. comfortable” and rolled his entire body to snuggle in closer, torso aligned shoulder to waist and lifting his legs to draping them over John’s hip, tilting his hips to nestle against John’s crotch and virtually sitting in his lap under the covers. As the cleft of Sherlock’s arse settled disturbingly neatly over John’s cock, the metaphorical cat was most certainly let out of the bag and John let out a startled squeak.

“Jesus Sherlock! Get out of my lap.” John tried to push himself away, but found himself hampered by the long legs effectively pinning him against the taller man.

Seemingly unsurprised, certainly unconcerned by his flatmate's arousal, Sherlock simply stopped moving and waited for John’s squirming to abate, and whispering, “Are you finished pretending that this isn’t something you want?”

“Something I…..wait…aren’t you?...do you?….”

Sherlock had turned his head slightly so he could make better eye contact with John, pupils dilated, and instead of shock or evasion in the blue-green eyes, John saw raw desire. However, Sherlock was, for the moment, simply laying quietly while waiting for John’s foggy morning thinking to catch up and put the pieces together.

John blinked slowly, brow furrowing and letting tense muscles in his shoulders loosen as he considered this unexpected revelation. He’d shared the madness of Baker Street for over twelve months and after a terse, “just transport” John had relegated his feelings to a box marked ‘Platonic with seasonal outbursts of blatant perving.’

“It seems you have other morning commodities you’ve neglected to mention, John. How rude of you not to share.” Any lingering doubt John had that Sherlock was somehow still uninterested in sex or more specifically him, evaporated as bony hips ground back against his, ankles and calves gripping more firmly against his back and arse. 

“Right….Well…good…that’s…good. That’s…very good.” John found logical thought elusive as the physical and emotional possibilities assaulted him.

The moment was interrupted as John’s mobile buzzed on the nightstand. Sherlock untangled a long arm and snatched it up, the bluish glow throwing cheekbones into high relief. The detective checked the message, mumbled “Lestrade” and John found himself suddenly alone in the bed as Sherlock seemed to flow out the door and down the stairs.

“I’ll just make tea, shall I?” John shouted after him, frustration making his voice rough.

The footsteps pounding down the stairs paused in their headlong flight and backtracked to the door. Sherlock’s face appeared in the doorway, smile wide and eyes bright with excitement.

“Important to keep hydrated John…..never know when I’ll need to avail myself of your….services.” And with a wink, he was gone.


End file.
